


Nasty Boy

by ambersagen



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Getting Together, Hand Washing, Lambert no, M/M, Massages, Relaxing, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, baths, dirty Lambert, nasty boy, threats of puking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26510365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/pseuds/ambersagen
Summary: “What's not to like? I get hot water, nice smelling soap, a lovely boy massaging my aching muscles,” Eskel caught the bard’s soapy hands, halting his methodical scrubbing to pull him down for a kiss. “Fucking isn't the only physical pleasure, Lamb. Our bard’s head rubs are to die for.”“Haven't you ever had a world changing massage before?” Jaskier asked, returning to his work. “I knew this wonderful lady back in Redania who did hot rock massages better than most sex that I've paid for.”Lambert shrugged, sheathing his blade after giving it a final wipe. “Never had a massage before. Can't imagine it's better than sex though.”
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 23
Kudos: 311





	Nasty Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Im tipsy and exhausted from work. hugs and kissess I hope you like this tomfoolery

“I don't get it,” Lambert grumbled from his corner. The room, while larger than most two bed rooms an regular inn could boast, was still pretty cramped when stuffed with three Witchers, a bard, and a large copper bathtub. Lambert had taken one look at the tub, steaming temptingly by the fire, and had promptly dragged the only chair available into the far corner and ensconced himself behind all their packs.

“Lambert hates water worse than a cat.” Geralt said with a shrug for Jaskier’s questioning gesture towards the youngest Witcher, who had taken out his daggers out and was cleaning them in the most threatening manner Jaskier had ever seen, not that he had a close view or anything. He was actually standing, himself, in the corner opposite Lambert and the other Witchers, only the deepest love and respect for them keeping his hands from where they desperately wanted to cover his nose.

A three Witcher hunt was nothing to scoff at, especially when it meant an all-night brawl with an army of undead who inhabited the unfortunate farmland on which they had clashed on and died on a decade ago in some war or another. Ultimately, the battle was won by the Witchers tonight, and the pack had stumbled and limped their way back to town, covered in the sweat and gore of their efforts.

Basically they smelled like they rolled in the remains of 100 dead guys, and if he didn't get them cleaned off Jaskier was going to barf.

“What is there to get?” Eskel said, sinking into the tub with a grateful sigh. Jaskier seized his chance, rushing forward with a whole vial of expensive lemon soap, his sleeves already rolled up, an apron borrowed from the alarmed yet grateful cook covering his torso. Eskel purred as the bard dug soapy hands into the mess on his head, fingers scratching along his scalp deliciously as Geralt sulked from his spot on the towel Jaskier had thrown over a patch of floor, having lost rock paper scissors for the first bath. Jaskier hummed as the sludge quickly melted away, not having set in yet, as the Witchers had been all too happy to rush back.

“Why are you so excited for him to touch you like that? He doesn't even put out for it.” Lambert asked, baffled. 

“What's not to like? I get hot water, nice smelling soap, a lovely boy massaging my aching muscles,” Eskel caught the bard’s soapy hands, halting his methodical scrubbing to pull him down for a kiss. “Fucking isn't the only physical pleasure, Lamb. Our bard’s head rubs are to die for.”

“Haven't you ever had a world changing massage before?” Jaskier asked, returning to his work. “I knew this wonderful lady back in Redania who did hot rock massages better than most sex that I've paid for.”

Lambert shrugged, sheathing his blade after giving it a final wipe. “Never had a massage before. Can't imagine it's better than sex though.”

There was a splash, and Lambert looked up only to see the bard staggering to his feet, the vial of soap he dropped into the water abandoned for Eskel to try and save.

“Never! Not even a backrub?” A negative shake of the head. “A shoulder rub? No one has ever played with your hair, rubbed your stiff back after a long day?”

“A Witcher stupid enough to let people near his neck willy-nilly is a dead Witcher.” Lambert replied confidently.

“Geralt!” The bard wheeled around, distraught, but the Witcher was already groaning in defeat.

“Fine. I'll go get more water. But you'd better finish washing Eskel at least. I doubt 100 baths would be enough to remove Lambert’s stink, and if I'm going to be bathing myself at least one of us should be clean.”

“Thank you dear.” Jaskier said, taking his seat again behind a grumbling Eskel, who handed him back his significantly watered-down soap. “And don't be so dramatic. I can wash you after Lambert. There's no reason I can't take care of all my wolves.”

“I don't remember agreeing to this.” Lambert objected, slouching in his corner.

“Wow. Are you really going to turn down one of Jaster's better-than-sex-massages?” Geralt said, unimpressed. “Even Vesemir had one.”

“More than one! The old wolf was very complimentary of my skills.”

“Gross!”

Geralt only shrugged at Lambert's disgusted expression.

“He's just too chicken to try. Otherwise he would realize he's not that great in bed either.” Eskel said, eyes closed and practically purring as Jaster carefully poured a jug over his head to rinse his hair. “Tub’s all yours, Lambchop. If you're man enough to try, that is.”

“All right shut up. Your trash talk is embarrassing,” Lambert said, rising with a scowl and beginning to strip without shame. “Get your lazy ass out of the damn tub. I swear this had better be the best fucking thing I've ever fucking felt or by the gods I will slap you so hard.”

He continued to bitch as he struggled out of his armor, Geralt ducking out of the room to go collect more water as Jaskier “helped” Eskel towel off. Lambert threw a pillow at them for wasting time “sucking each other's faces off”.

Finally the water had been freshened, and Lambert had been bullied into the basin with a considerable amount of swearing.

“Now what?” The Witcher asked, as tense as anyone Jaskier had ever seen in a tub.

“Now nothing. Your job is to sit there, relax, and let me do all the work.” Jaskier said, holding up an assortment of soaps. “Now, which scent do you prefer? None of them are as concentrated as I would wear, but there is an assortment to choose from. I prefer floral scents myself, but Garalt likes the herby ones that make him smell like tea, and Eskel likes lavender.”

“What does it even matter?” Lambert said, petulant even as he stiffly leaned over to sniff at each vial offered. 

Jaskier had to suppress a chuckle.  _ “Just like a cat pretending aloofness as they are offered a treat.” _ he thought to himself.

“I guess that one doesn't make me want to vomit.” Lambert said, finally pointing to a citrus scented soap, and Jaskier preened. He  _ knew _ it would be worth the pretty penny he had paid to track down orange oils.

“Perfect. Okay, in the interest of not getting stabbed I’m going to warn you before I touch anywhere new, okay?”

“The only thing I've got on me capable of stabbing you with in this damn tub is my dick, and you already have Geralt and Eskel for  _ that _ kind of stabbing.”

“Well, maybe you’d find people more amiable to a little mutual poke if you weren't so rancid.” Garalt said, scrunching his nose.

“Hush all of you. You're ruining the relaxing atmosphere!” Jaskier growled, ruining the relaxing atmosphere himself as his angry rumbles went straight to each Witcher's dick.

Lambert sank down under the water, hiding in the copious amounts of bubbles, while Eskel and Geralt quickly grabbed bags to unpack and armor to clean, all conveniently held at crotch height.

It was quiet for a time, and Lambert was beginning to think there might be something to the whole relaxing massage thing. His scalp was tingling pleasantly as well manicured nails ran over and over his head. But while he had been unwinding there was one particular person who's tension was building up into an almost panic.

Another pitcher of water rinsed over his hair, and Jaskier’s scent sparked with genuine fear, immediately setting all three Witcher is on high alert.

“Umm, Geralt.” He began, and Lambert felt all relaxation leave him at the strangled sound of the bard’s voice.

“I get that your brotherly relationship is built on mutual teasing and antagonism but Lambert is  _ definitely _ one to shoot the messenger and I can't believe that you would drag your poor, unsuspecting barred into such a prank!”

With a curse, ignoring Garalt and his increasingly hysterical bard, Lambert reached up, pulling his hair to try and feel whatever the hell had been done to him.

“Jaskier, calm down, please! I swear to you I did nothing, there's no prank!”

“But-but look at him! Soap doesn't do that!” Jaskier wailed, gesturing at Lambert’s now bright red hair. 

“Is he bleeding?” Eskel asks, stepping closer and audibly sniffing the air.

Huh. The hair between his fingers was a bit darker than he remembered, but it was undeniably red. Lambert pulled a whole lock down, scoffing as it coiled back up when released. With an explosive sigh he relaxed back into the tub, flicking an idle Igni to bring the temperature back up. And that wasn't so bad really, and he had to agree it's a lot nicer than necrotic flesh.

“Ohhhhhhh.”

Eskel must have realized it wasn't blood. “I thought you had been dying it.”

“Dying it?” Jaskier asked, voice watery.

Lambert scowled as the trio closed in to get a better look. “Why the fuck would I do something so foppish? I don't give two fucks what color my hair is. I'm not a princess like Geralt.”

“So, what. You really haven't been doing anything? All these years?” He asked, dumbstruck.

“Wait, do you mean to tell me that this is natural?” Jaskier practically shreaked, causing the Witchers to wince. 

The bard was indignant, hands back in the Witcher's hair shamelessly fondling the curly ginger locks. “How is that possible?”

“Oh fuck. Lambert!” Geralt slapped him, causing the younger to snap his teeth at him. “You slimeball!”

“So, that time when we were kids... and you sassed Vesemir, saying that when you grew up to be a powerful Witcher that no one would be able to make you take a bath again? You were serious?”

“The only one who's the boss of me is me,” Lambert sniffed. “No one can tell me what to do.”

“That's... Impressive. And revolting.” Jaskier did look revolted and impressed. “You dyed your hair black and glued slick with monster gore for... Oh gods the years I've known you alone!”

“So much longer.” Eskel groaned, looking vaguely green.

“So what? I don't see what the big deal is. Sure, this bath is nicer than I thought but it's also a lot of fucking work. I'm not going to have someone on the path with me wash my hair like a - a lady in waiting or something!”

Jaskier shuddered. “I'm going to be sick. I can't, he can't go back to that, right? Not now that we know!”

The older Witchers looked at each other, then at the younger thoughtfully. Lambert very loudly ignored them, closing his eyes and kicking his legs up over the edge of the tub.

“Yes. We have no choice. He has to stay with us I suppose. Since he can’t be trusted on his own.” Eskel said, his expression a mystery as Lambert refused to look at either of them.

“What a brat. He could have asked to join us, but no. He had to go and be a filthy, nasty boy.” Geralt rumbled, much closer than Lambert had thought he was.

“Oh, is that what we're doing? Kinky. I approve.” Lambert could smell Jaskier was serious about that too. “But please, I wasn't kidding about puking my guts up if I even have think about all of this much more. Can we please drain the water and do another scrub?”

“Or two?” Geralt agreed, already half out the door to fetch more water, the door closing just in time to muffle the shouts of Lambert's cussing out Eskel as he was bodily removed from the tub while Jaskier rambled off orders for additional soap.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello. Ambersagen.tumblr.com


End file.
